


A Captain's Privilege

by JungleKitty



Series: Duty, Pleasure, and Privilege [3]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:20:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21894277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JungleKitty/pseuds/JungleKitty
Summary: Even with sacred traditions, sometime you gotta improvise.
Series: Duty, Pleasure, and Privilege [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1577116
Kudos: 6





	A Captain's Privilege

**Author's Note:**

> (c) 1999 Jungle Kitty. Star Trek and its characters are the property of Paramount. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe on that ownership. The author's copyright applies only to the creative content and her original characters.
> 
> This is the third story of the "Duty, Pleasure and Privilege" trilogy. It was inspired by Robin who identified that padd that a beautiful yeoman is always bringing Kirk for his signature. It's the Spanking List.
> 
> The previous stories are A Captain's Duty and A Captain's Pleasure.
> 
> I've been advised to include the following warning:
> 
> Folks, this is the writer. We're running into a little silliness, so for your own protection, I'm going to ask that you fasten your seatbelts, just as I do here at the computer, until the story has come to a complete halt at the moderator's gate. And remember that this is a no-tupperware story, and it's illegal to disable the tupperware detector in the lavatory. In the event of an emergency plot twist, your nearest exit may be behind you.

Kirk grasped the turbolift control and snapped, "Bridge!"

In his four years as captain of the Enterprise, he had endured pain, loss, and an allergic reaction to velour, but this was *too* *much*. No one--absolutely no one--had ever *dared*--

And now! Now, when he least expected it... Now, from the most surprising quarter... Now, when he'd been reveling in anticipation of exercising the right that was his alone... He'd received the gravest insult of all. An insult not only to him personally, but to all of Starfleet and its most glorious, awe-inspiring tradition.

He'd been *stood* *up*!

!!!

No one could refuse the Captain's Privilege. It was beyond insubordination, beyond mutiny, beyond cowardice. Damn it, without the spanking list, Starfleet would simply cease to function. No one would agree to put on a red shirt and beam down to a hostile planet, if not for the precious points that would propel them to the top of the spanking list.

Yes, there were a few perverts who would prefer not to find themselves in that enviable position, but even they understood. The need for discipline was absolute. Even that ninny Janice Rand had tried to do her duty.

He shuddered, remembering the moment when his nervous yeoman had lowered herself to his lap, whimpered softly, and *wet her pants.* He hadn't even gotten her skirt up! Pitiful... He'd been relieved when she'd requested a transfer.

And that insult paled next to--

The turbolift came to a halt, and the doors whisked open. Kirk stepped onto the bridge, put his hands on his hips, and said quietly, "Mr. Spock. Come with me, please."

***

The silence in the Vulcan's quarters was deafening. Spock had been standing at parade rest for nearly a full minute without answering his captain's question.

"Well, Mr. Spock?" Kirk prompted. "I asked for an explanation."

"Captain, surely you know that--"

"I *know* that you were expected in my quarters at 1500 hours. And your trousers should have been at half-mast at 1501. Now you may believe that our friendship entitles you to some special treatment, but--"

"Captain, as a Vulcan, I am excused from this duty."

"You're also half-human, Mr. Spock. If you insist, I'll confine myself to one cheek. So which will it be? The right or the left?"

"Captain... Why are Vulcans exempt from the spanking list? Haven't you wondered?"

Kirk pulled up short. Something in Spock's voice... This wasn't simple distaste or reluctance. There was something...more. And suddenly, he wasn't sure he wanted to know what it was.

"I guess the rest of us assume that there's a...logical reason."

"No. There is not. A Vulcan understands, but even we do not speak of it among ourselves. It is a deeply personal thing. Can you see that, Captain, and understand?"

"No, I do not understand. Explain. Consider that an order."

"Captain, there are some things that transcend even the discipline of the service."

"No, there aren't!" he snapped, stunned at such unthinkable blasphemy. Then, seeing Spock's distress, he regretted his sharp response. "Spock, would it help if I told you that I'll treat this as totally confidential?"

After a tense moment, Spock turned slowly away and said in a low voice, "It has to do with...psychology."

"What?"

"*Psychology.*"

"What kind of...psychology?"

"*Vulcan* psychology."

"The psychology of...Vulcans?"

"Yes."

"Well, Spock, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."

"I am not speaking of tobacco products, Captain."

"Then what are you talking about?"

"It is a thing no outworlder may know."

Kirk relaxed, relieved to be in familiar territory at last. "So we're talking about pon farr."

"No, this is different."

"You told me that pon farr was the thing no outworlder may know."

"I regret misleading you, Captain. Pon farr is the thing we *say* no outworlder may know so that he will feel privileged when it is revealed to him."

Kirk's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "So what's this new one?"

"It is *really* a thing no outworlder may know."

"Come on, Spock. Out with it."

"No, Captain, I cannot. It would be a betrayal of all that I hold sacred."

Kirk rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Spock--"

"No, Jim. Despite our years of friendship, I can tell you nothing. But...if, while my back is turned...you were to go to my bookshelf and randomly make a selection--perhaps 'Tri-Meta-Quadra-Phasic Interdimensional Phenomena in Transtemporal Pre-Matter, Volume 5'--on the second shelf--*second* shelf--and remove its dust jacket--I would be unaware that you are scanning its contents."

Following Spock's directions, Kirk found himself holding a dog-eared copy of "Vulcan Rituals for Dummies."

Staring blankly ahead, Spock continued, "And if you were to turn to page 27 and read the entry on--"

"Hold it." Kirk stopped flipping through the book as a familiar word caught his eye.

"Captain, the relevant passage is on page 27--"

"*I'm* on page 83. The definition of t'hy'la." He looked up from the book with a dark frown. "You sneaky green liar. It doesn't mean 'more than a friend, more than a brother.' It means 'a companion who is gullible enough to lend one money until payday.'"

"That is an archaic interpretation that is now considered politically incorrect."

"Hmph. And you still owe me from last month."

"Yes, t'hy'la. Now if you will turn to page 27..."

Kirk did so and read aloud in a voice dripping with disbelief, "Bun farr?"

"Exactly."

"*Bun* farr?"

"It is the Vulcan heart, the Vulcan soul."

"BUN--"

"Captain, consider. We Vulcans use logic to control our emotions. But eons ago, in a time shrouded in antiquity, we were a race of such great passion that it almost destroyed us. Do you imagine that we have obliterated that need?"

"Well, no, not exactly--"

"No intelligent being would choose to repress his core impulses, were it not for the discipline of bun farr."

"This?"

Kirk held the book open and pointed at the crude drawing of two naked Vulcans, one seated and the other bent over his knee in the classic disciplinary position. The seated one had raised his hand high above his head. His palm was open, and his fingers were splayed in an exaggerated Vulcan salute. The caption read simply, "Ou'ch!"

"Yes." Spock said. "That position is known as the whack tow."

"The whack tow," Kirk repeated, nodding thoughtfully. "Spock, you're pulling my leg."

"No, Captain. The ritual of bun farr is so far beyond what Starfleet regards as adequate discipline that I fear no human can understand it."

"Well, if you would explain to me what's involved--"

"Captain, you lack the most basic skill, which is to hold your fingers in a Vulcan salute."

"Easily dealt with, Mr. Spock. I have some fishing wire in my quarters--"

"Even if we were to tie your hand into position--which, incidentally, would be regarded as a sacrilege akin to the use of Cheetos in Holy Communion--but were we to do so, we would still face one insurmountable obstacle. You are incapable of providing a satisfactory disciplinary action."

"Now wait a minute, Spock. I've been captain of the Enterprise for four years now. I haven't heard any complaints, and I don't know how many times I've done this--"

"Seventeen thousand, two hundred and eighty six."

"That many? That can't be right."

"If one accounts for syndication and cable."

"What?"

Spock quickly recovered from his momentary lapse, knowing the Vulcan elders would *really* have his ass for revealing yet another thing no outworlder may know.

"I was, of course, including the time when your body was occupied by Dr. Janice Lester," he said. "She was most enthusiastic in her exercise of the Captain's Privilege. She had the spanking list updated hourly. I believe that was her primary motivation in stealing your body."

"I knew there was more to that than she let on."

"Indeed. And now may I suggest we end this fruitless discussion? Perhaps the next name on the list--"

"I'm not giving up on this, Spock. I grant you that, unassisted, I may not have the strength to administer the sort of discipline you require, but perhaps I could use some sort of, er, implement."

"I assume you are referring to a spanking aid."

"Yes. I'm sure I can come up with something appropriate."

"Such as?"

"I have several things in my cabin."

"Such as?"

"The usual."

"Such as?"

Kirk watched Spock carefully as he began nonchalantly listing the contents of his collection.

"Oh, a hairbrush...a belt...a whip...a slipper--which belonged to my father, by the way. No? All right, a wooden ruler...a rolled-up newspaper--but that's an antique, I'd rather not use that unless absolutely necessary." He smiled hopefully but, seeing no response from Spock, he continued, "And I can see that it's not. Well, I *do* have--" He dropped his voice to a seductive whisper. "--a paddle."

"Ah!"

Kirk's face brightened. "Oh, that appeals to you, does it?"

"No, not in the least. I was merely gratified to learn that my estimation was correct."

"Your estimation?"

"Of how long it would be before you mentioned it."

"You knew about it?"

"Jim, if you believe your officers do not gossip, you are wrong. After all, once one has engaged in all the approved recreations, there is little else to do aboard a starship except gossip."

"But the paddle doesn't interest you."

"No."

With a determined frown, Kirk began pacing. "Spock, I'm not taking no for an answer. Everyone has some sort of unfulfilled spanking wish. So what's yours?"

"Do *you* have an unfulfilled spanking wish, Captain?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact, I do."

Spock raised an expectant eyebrow.

"You know that tingle you get from the transporter? I've always wondered if--" He looked at Spock and saw that both eyebrows had practically disappeared under his hair. "Well, um, it's rather complicated, and anyway, we're not talking about me." He wiped the back of his neck, which was slick with sweat from the Vulcan-normal temperature of the room. "Spock, do you mind if I--"He gestured toward the head.

"Of course." Spock nodded.

Kirk went into the small compartment and continued speaking as he splashed cool water on his face and neck.

"So what'll it be, Spock? What's the Vulcan version of a trip to the woodshed?" He came out, rubbing a towel against his face. "Any race that would invent the whack tow must have--" As he lifted his head and began drying his hands, he saw that Spock had gone very pale. "Spock? What is it?"

"Jim...please go," Spock whispered hoarsely.

"Are you ill?"

"No. Just...go."

"Spock, sit down. Here, let me help you."

As he guided Spock to a chair, he smelled coppery perspiration and noticed that the Vulcan was breathing in short, shallow gasps. He tipped Spock's head back and patted the damp towel against his forehead.

"Ohhhh..." Spock moaned.

"Spock, what's wrong?"

"*Ohhhhh...*"

"I'll call McCoy--" As Kirk turned away, Spock's steely fingers closed around his wrist.

"Do that again," the Vulcan demanded in a low tone.

"What?"

"Wipe my forehead."

Tentatively, Kirk touched the towel to Spock's fevered skin.

"Ahhh! Again!"

Kirk's eyes widened as he realized that Spock was not ill. In fact, he was exhibiting all the symptoms of a man who was very close to achieving his most secret, forbidden desire. But a terrycloth fetish? Kinky.

"Spock--"

"Again!"

"Spock, is it the towel? Tell me!"

Drawing a deep breath, Spock stared hungrily into Kirk's eyes. "No. It is not the towel. It is...a thing..."

"No outworlder may know." Kirk finished the sentence impatiently. "Right. Let's not go through that again." He slowly drew the towel across the back of Spock's neck, hissing softly, "Is it this, Spock?"

"No..."

"No?" He gently stroked Spock's cheek with the thick cotton.

"Ahhhh!" Spock's body was shaken by a powerful tremor.

"Then what is it, Spock?" Kirk whispered as he caressed Spock's ears through the soft terrycloth.

"The moisture," he growled.

"What about it?"

"On Vulcan, water is...most precious. It is not to be wasted on something as illogical as...pleasure. To drink when one is not thirsty...to moisten one's skin when one does not require bathing...it is regarded as a great...perversion."

Kirk nodded as a slow smile crept across his face.

"Wait right here."

***

Five minutes later, Kirk was wringing the water from the towel as he twisted it into a rope. His motions were somewhat hampered by the fishing wire that held his fingers in a Vulcan salute, but he snapped the towel down sharply and was pleased by the loud crack that echoed through the Vulcan's quarters. Suddenly grateful for the experiences of the Academy showers, he turned and surveyed a slender, trembling, green ass.

Swinging the towel rat in a lazy circle, he chuckled quietly as he was consumed by one thought and one thought alone.

Come hell or high water, Spock was going to enjoy his turn at the top of the spanking list.


End file.
